My cat, Ms Mama Macy, is sitting on my lap. She adjusts herself a bit as she looks for the perfect napping position. A position she will loose herself in as she dreams of sunflowers, mice, her two broods of kittens, and goodness knows what else. In a moment she will be purring so loud and deeply that the sound will massage my legs. She is happy.
I’m glad to provide a lap, and a safe place for her to live. Plenty of food, petting, heat registers and windows to lie in. The Sun is his own business and does not take ideas from me but I am sure he will shine through the windows, and that Ms Mama Macy will be there purring, and napping the day away. Her black fur; although, speckled with white draws the heat toward her. I think if I had thick black and white fur I’d be sitting in windows drawing the heat into me too.
I saw her cross swords with not one but two mice at the same time a few years ago. She was like the ‘Dread Pirate Roberts’ fighting the Spaniard on that cliff in The Princess Bride as she parried and swung, balestra-ed and couléed proving herself to be the best of the three. Finally without even a bead of sweat she brought them both to me. Mostly dead they dropped at my feet and she purred happily.
I think if I were a cat this would be one of those stories you tell your grandchildren and the lads at the pub. It would be exaggerated and lovingly turned golden near the end of life.
A tale travel worn and more myth than reality it will be a Beowulf for modern cat times.
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